


the long road down (and the reasons to take it)

by ammunitionist



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Religious Guilt, don’t get me wrong this is NOT a fix-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26434903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ammunitionist/pseuds/ammunitionist
Summary: sometimes, when the exhaustion gets too deep, hillbilly can't stop himself from asking stupid questions.ack ack doesn't seem to mind.
Relationships: Andrew A. "Ack-Ack" Haldane/Edward "Hillbilly" Jones
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	the long road down (and the reasons to take it)

**Author's Note:**

> hello! i wrote this while (you guessed it) being totally unable to sleep. as a result, i'm not too proud of it, but i'm also posting this for free on the internet so who cares lol
> 
> hope you enjoy!

“Do y’ever think about God?”

The sentence is offered up late, asininity excusable as a symptom of their shared exhaustion. Hillbilly has that habit, unfortunate though it may be. While unaffected by most things that would lay an average man flat, Edward Jones is still mournfully human, and therein left to flounder in the hands of fatigue.

The words come out in a quasi-slur, his lips obeying him to their barest capacity, like they truly do not care whether or not he’s comprehensible. His head is an iron weight against the palm tree behind him, dragging him down into what he could only imagine to be blissful respite. He can’t bend, though-- that would be equal parts unbecoming and dangerous. 

“Not any more than I have to, Lieutenant.” 

Ack Ack’s response is, as most things about him are, measured to the tenth. He can’t possibly feel any more awake than Hillbilly does- though the two of them can’t collectively muster up ten hours of sleep since landing on Peleliu, Hillbilly easily has the larger slice. 

“Why do you ask?” the blond follows up, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. It reminds Eddie remarkably of his childhood, of being sat bashfully on the couch, of being expected to submit his childish transgressions for their according switch-to-the-back.

He grunts, noncommittal, letting his eyes fall shut and carry him away for a mere moment. This close to sleep, anything more than blinking drags his whole consciousness down the curve of his spine. Something akin to vertigo hits when he forces them open again, his head lurching forward like he’d somehow been knocked upside the skull.

“Nothin’,” he manages, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Jus’ been thinkin’.” 

“There hasn’t been much time for that recently,” Ack Ack comments, his head momentarily dipping between his wrists. His blond hair flashes silver in the moonlight, and Hillbilly has an odd momentary glimpse of what he would look like as an old man. Still handsome, probably, with those blue eyes and that genial smile. Age couldn’t take much from those who have in excess. “What with the- you know.”

Eddie nods wearily. He knows _exactly_ what Ack Ack is referring to. Neither of them want to go through the complete inanity of repeating it. War in shorthand, Peleliu in more detail, crossing that airfield under duress with no water if they _really_ want to waste their breath. Still, Hillbilly doesn’t bother with the reiteration. They were both there for it anyway. 

“I been thinkin,” Hillbilly starts again, because he’s _just too tired_ to keep his goddamn mouth shut. “Thinkin’ ‘bout the place I went as a kid.”

“The church?”

Eddie nods again. His mouth’s just slightly dry, but they finally have water again, so it’s no transgression to reach for his canteen and bring it to his lips. The liquid sounds strange, a loose hollow noise inside the metal container, but it’s the taste that he notices more. The same metallic taste of military water, consistent for nearly a decade of service. Wars change, enemies change, but the water and the bullets-

They just don’t bother to make them any different.

“It was- it was near the edge’a town.” he manages, images from when he was young barely impressioned on the inside of his eyelids like faded photographs. “Big white thing. Ugly as sin, ‘s funny as that is.” 

Ack Ack sits back against his pack, arms crossed over his broad chest. He hasn’t said anything, and he hasn’t looked away, so Hillbilly takes it as an audience. He doesn’t really expect Andy to give a shit about what he’s saying- he really doubts it makes any sense anyway- but those blue eyes are still on him, so he keeps going. 

“My old man grew up w’ our preacher. Made everything worse, in a way.” 

The second sentence slips out unchecked. _Made everything worse,_ implying that it was bad in the first place. Eddie’s almost too exhausted to catch it, but once he does, the little shock of adrenaline is the only tick he needs to send his brain into overdrive. There’s no virtue in worrying- Ack Ack has long since passed knowing and moved into participating in Hillbilly’s sin- but for a moment, exhaustion makes him forget his audience, and the repercussions are there before he can reign himself in. His heart rails against his ribcage hard in the second before he can contain it, traitor as it is. He expects to look up and find his display utterly foreign to Ack Ack, spread out open and messy like the dissected, rotted corpse he is.

  
  


Instead, Andy shifts backwards and nods, understanding, like his daddy was an Appalachian fire-and-brimstone drinker just like Eddie’s. Hillbilly squints and tries, hard, to imagine Andy growing up where he did, with a father just like his. A shock of blond hair bobbing up and down in the churchyard, too thin and straight to cover the bruising on his browbone. His curls may be a bother sometimes, but at least they were dark enough back then to blend in with bloomed flesh. As long as he kept his head down in school (which was fine, he didn't pretend to be smart back then either) and in church (s’ _respectful, anyway, keep yer goddamn head down in the Lord’s house_ ) nobody asked little Eddie Jones what on earth happened to his eye. 

“I never liked church.”

Hillbilly cracks an eye to see Ack Ack looking up at the moon, arms crossed over his chest. Something like a smile has the corners of his lips twisted upwards. He seems almost amused by the confession, unbothered at the least. “My parents would pale to hear me say it, but I can’t honestly remember a single time I woke up on Sunday with anything but obligation to get me out of bed.”

Eddie blinks. He had never processed the ability to _dislike_ church outright. Sure, nobody _liked_ it, but you went and you shut the hell up about it. You let Father Fucking-Whoever get up in your face, spittle flying, and tell you and yours that being a queer meant going to hell. You took it.

“Huh,” Hillbilly says. He can’t muster anything else. 

“You asked about God, though.” Ack Ack readjusts his head to be looking at Eddie, the tiredness in them manifesting in a gaze that seems to almost look _through_ him. “Why do you want to know if I think about God, Hillbilly?”

He feels pinned. There’s nowhere to run, and the adrenaline from earlier had more or less banished the true exhaustion from his system. The question was stupid when he could blame it on fatigue, but now he had to answer more or less lucid. Cruel fates, or something.

“B’cause I do.” he confesses. The words pour forth in sick gospel. “I do, n’ I know he hates me.” 

Andy frowns, like he can’t fathom someone hating Hillbilly for any reason. It stings, in some strange way. 

“Why?” he asks, in a hushed tone that makes Eddie’s blood run molten for just a split second.

“Oh, I think you fuckin’ know.” he shoots back bitterly. Ack Ack isn’t stupid. He’s been an active participant in the reason Eddie will inevitably end up down below for months now, though he can’t quite fathom a man like Andy joining him there. That doesn’t matter, though- they’re both fuckin _queers,_ down to the bones of it. Faggots are sinners and sinners go to hell. It’s primary school logic. 

The silence that follows almost makes him want to apologize.

Eddie slides his eyes shut and waits for the inevitable reprimand.

Instead, the quiet sound of movement warns him just before Andy is settling at his side. His head tucks tidily away in the joint between Eddie’s jaw and shoulder, and Eddie’s not fag enough to say it fits like a puzzle piece, but he definitely, _definitely_ has to stifle the thought.

“I don’t think it matters what God thinks of us.” he says plainly, voice oddly quieter with Hillbilly to his back. “He isn’t going to get us for a good long while.” 

Eddie can’t even grunt at that.

“And even when he does,” Andy carries on, tone slurring in the precursor of sleep. Eddie’s hand compulsively finds its way onto Andy’s scalp, wanting very little more than to compel his captain to rest.

“I don’t think you and I will be the worst he’s ever seen.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! comments are appreciated. 
> 
> get some sleep pls this shit ain't healthy


End file.
